Of Freedom
by Cheerfully Shameless
Summary: "Well, Saint Emily might be into abusive relationships, but I'm not!" Paul, meet Emma. She's your happily ever after – if you can get her there. Alternative imprints, OCs, various other evils.
1. Chapter 1

"Well, Saint Emily might be into abusive relationships, but _I'm not!_" Paul, meet Emma. She's your happily ever after – if you can get her there.

("So tell me Emma – is freedom really about having no one stopping you from doing anything? Is it about having no one in the world who cares about you, or who you care about? You can be free in your own little world of one person – but is that what you really want?")

Disclaimer: If you believe I own the concepts underlying this story, you are sadly mistaken. I am but a poor student, and hence do not even own my own copy of the Twilight books. (I have read a lot of fanfiction, however, which I believe was the wisest of all possible decisions I could have made).

By this I mean: I don't own anything that is drawn from or pertains to the Twilight series, and am not making any money out of my writing. My writing is purely for my own entertainment - and hopefully that of others - and I recognise none of the content within may be subject to any form of copyright to me.

In other news, this is my first Twilight fanfic ever, so please be kind and enjoy. :) (Also: first and _only_ disclaimer that will be applied throughout this story.)

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**Of Freedom**

**Chapter 1**

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"I can't believe we're doing this," I grumbled, leaning against the car window and sticking my lower lip out into an unconscious pout.

"I know," my mum snapped back at me, barely even trying to be discrete. "They're _my _family, you'd think _I'd_ get to choose whether or not we see them-"

"Sarah," Dad sighed. "Do we have to go over this again?"

"Yes, we do," Mum said, a frown stuck on her face. I'd inherited practically nothing of my appearance from her – Mum was very much the stereotypical image of a Native American woman, with long, straight black hair, tan skin, almond eyes and high cheekbones, whereas people thought I was joking when I said I was half Native American. I had my dad's ridiculously unmanageable brown tangles, hacked short (but sexy as anything, in my humble opinion), blue eyes and fair skin; I was, effectively, Dad's female clone – just younger and hotter.

I think Mum was actually glad I didn't look anything like her; it was another strike against her parents. She'd often grumbled about them conspiring against her, trying to turn her into their perfect Native little homemaker even before her birth – along with saddling her with a Native name that I could barely pronounce and rarely bothered trying. Mum had taken a truly unhealthy amount of pleasure in changing her name to one of the most common names she could find as soon as she went to university. Apparently, she'd also sent copies of the name change certificate to her parents; she was fairly gleeful in imagining their reactions.

I realised that I'd tuned out of my mum's rant a while ago, but it didn't really matter. She'd pretty much been on repeat ever since Dad had accepted the invitation to come visit her parents (and my grandparents, not that they'd ever bothered acknowledging my existence before now, thanks very much). My mum and my... grandparents - I suppose I should get used to calling them that now, or Dad'll level a Disappointed Look at me, and I really hate it when he does that – had this massive falling out when Mum was eighteen. They'd expected her to settle down and start producing kids because apparently dearest granddaddy's some kind of huge misogynist, but Mum had gone behind their backs to apply for a scholarship at Yale – and got it. It probably hadn't helped that her older brother had tried applying for universities the year before and had got absolutely no acceptances. Then, to put the cherry on the cake, it turns out Mum has the same amount of tact I have; that is to say, absolutely none. They got into some blow out fight, dearest Granddaddy shouted that if Mum walked out the door she better not come back and Mum promptly decided that she didn't like that shithole of a Rez anyway. So yeah, like I said – Mum's not going to be winning awards for tact.

She always said that she made the right decision, and I'm fairly sure she believed it too; she got a degree in neuroscience, met my Dad in the last year of her course and decided when he went back to Britain she'd go with him. They married, she had me in the middle of a successful career as a neurosurgeon and decided to switch back to academics, managing to pick up a lecturing position at the same university my Dad lectured at. The success Mum had managed meant she expected the exact same thing from me – a career first, and if I decided that I wanted a family, then fair enough, but it should never interfere with my Independence! Some of my friends thought this was "well imposing, what if you _wanted_ to be a stay-at-home mum?" but thankfully for my mother, she'd succeeded in indoctrinating me young, and I was a proud little feminist throughout my youth (I still remembered that time she took me out for ice cream because I kicked Nicky Johnson in the balls for saying girls couldn't play rugby).

I brought myself out of my thoughts to listen to what Mum was saying now – she'd moved onto the further blatant flaws of her parents, apparently.

"If there was a BNP for Native Americans, my parents would have signed right up," Mum was saying. She swivelled in her seat to gesture at Dad. "They tried not to invite you. Did I tell you that they tried not to invite you?"

"Yes dear, you told me that they tried to not invite me," Dad sighed, not looking up from the road.

"Twenty nine years married and they expect me to leave my husband at home. It's ridiculous. And I can't believe you agreed to stay in the same house as them!"

"Sarah, you know you'd regret it if you never made up with them." Dad was trying –and succeeding for the most part – to sound soothing. He was the peacemaker of the family, and considering that it contained both my mum and myself, we sorely needed one.

"No I wouldn't," Mum said mulishly. "_They _were the ones who disowned me, with their inane ideas of a woman's 'place'. As if I'd stand for that." She turned to look at me. "They might start on you, Emma," she said ominously. "They wanted us to invite you in particular, and I suspect they plan on introducing you to some _males_" – and she made the word sound like a curse – "so they can get you breeding. At least you look properly English. Maybe they won't want you to spread your inferior foreign genes into the bloodlines."

"Sarah!" Dad said, sounding faintly outraged, but Mum ploughed on.

"Just remember, you're doing Engineering at Oxford, you are a success, and if they don't like that you are free to tell them exactly where they can shove their opinions-"

"Sarah," Dad sighed, sounding faintly anguished, and that promptly set off another round of rants. I grinned and stretched out across the back seat. It was vastly satisfying to know there was someone even unhappier with this trip than I was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Of Freedom**

**Chapter 2**

"Wow," I said, as we pulled up in front of my grandparents' house. "That's just- wow."

So I totally get that I have this distorted idea of how the world is – I'm middle-class, have been all my life and my mum earned enough from her time working as a neurosurgeon that we live in a nice house, and both my parents are successful academics. We're pretty much English suburbia incarnate and I've never, y'know, actually seen properly poor people. I get this is small-minded of me and all, but – wow. Seriously. I think the entire damn house would fit into our living room or something, and it was single-storey.

"Emma," Dad said, chidingly. "Don't be rude."

"I wasn't!" I protested. "It's just – is there actually going to be room for us?"

"There'll only be five of us Emma, including your grandparents," Dad sighed. "There'll be plenty of space. Maybe it'll encourage you to get outside once in a while instead of holing yourself up on your computer."

I thought about asking whether the place actually had electricity or not, but suspected that would be what Dad would call 'rude'. Instead, I cast a dubious eye outside at the ominous looking cloud front. "Seriously?" I asked. "I think the weather may actually be worse here than at home."

Mum grinned at me, and when Dad wasn't looking mouthed, 'shithole'. I nodded fervently in agreement. Small-minded? Sure. Happy to be that way? Yep.

Dad just rolled his eyes, and began to chivvy us out of the rental car. "Emma, go ring the doorbell," he told me. "I'll start getting the bags out of the car."

"It's not too late to back out," Mum said. "There are some motels in Forks. We could sleep there. I bet the accommodation is nicer there, too."

"_Sarah_," Dad said, and I bit back a grin as I slouched up to the door. We were seriously going to stay here? _Seriously_? I felt a sudden yearning for the old camping holidays in Wales; at least most of the campsites we stayed on had shower facilities with unending hot water if you had enough twenty pence coins, and no relatives who were specifically looking for flaws. I pressed the doorbell, feeling oddly like I was signing my own doom, and then waited a few seconds.

I don't know entirely what I was expecting from my grandparents – maybe horns, devil tails and pitchforks – but the sweet-looking, absolutely _tiny_ woman that opened the door wasn't really it. She was maybe up to my shoulder, and I'm 5'8'' at best.

"You must be Emma!" she exclaimed cheerfully, a beaming smile on her face as she gestured down at me. I stared in incomprehension, and she gestured again. "Lean down so I can give you a kiss!" she said. "I don't know _where_ you got that height from." I resisted the temptation to say my father, and instead leaned down hesitantly and presented a cheek which was promptly pecked. "Come in, come in," she said enthusiastically as my parents trudged up to the door holding our suitcases.

We all trooped in obediently, finding ourselves directly in the – sitting room? I wasn't sure what Americans called it, and I didn't particularly care either. A small television was balanced on a set of drawers opposite a sofa, and two chairs were crowded into the remaining space. I felt oddly oversized for the place, like it was one of the really old pubs in Oxford that were all low ceilings and packed stools. They at least had the excuse of being five hundred years old, though.

My grandfather came through the door, and I felt the sudden and irresistible temptation to call him 'Granddaddy' – he looked the type of person that would absolutely flip over it. He was probably my height, maybe a little smaller with the beginnings of a stoop and a very sparse head of hair. His wrinkles seemed to be etched into a permanent frown, his mouth turned down as he looked at the three of us.

"Ni-" my grandmother started to say with a rather forced smile as she looked at my mother.

"Sarah," Mum promptly interrupted. "That's been my name for the past thirty years, and I'd thank you to use it."

"Simply because you choose to turn your back on our traditions-" Granddaddy began, his lips turning white in his fury.

"Simply because you can't accept that times have changed since the dinosaurs were roaming the earth-" Mum was saying, talking angrily over him. It was becoming apparent to me that my self-righteous stubbornness was come by honestly – three generations of tactless, argumentative people all under the same roof. This holiday was clearly going to be great fun.

"Sarah!" My dad said, loudly enough to cut the both of them off. Granddaddy looked deeply surprised at this, as if no one had dared to interrupt him in aeons. Grandma, by contrast, may have actually looked a little impressed. "I'm sure that your mother simply misspoke. It must be hard for them to remember that their daughter prefers a different name, but I'm _certain they'll respect that_." I could empathise with Grandma suddenly – I felt a little impressed at the sheer weight he managed to put in the last few words as he looked at everyone in the room.

Granddaddy didn't look too pleased, but whatever he was about to say was cut off by Grandma, who placed a hand on his arm and then cast her eyes significantly towards me. I could feel my eyes narrow in suspicion at that; there was no way Mum could be right about a great Quileute Breeding Project, was there? I really didn't like how Granddaddy paused to look me over, before sighing in agreement, and looked over to Mum – she, I was happy to note, looked as suspicious as I felt.

"I apologise... Sarah," Grandma said carefully, and using Mum's name sounded like it might actually pain her. "As your husband says, I simply forgot. I'll do my best to remember in future though."

Mum nodded tightly, and Granddaddy glowered indiscriminately at us all. "You might as well unpack," he ground out after a few moments. "I need to go to the store."

Grandma nodded pleasantly at her husband's back and then smiled at the three of us. "I'm afraid that you'll be sleeping on the sofa, Emma," she said. "When our children all moved out, we decided having more than one guest room was just wasteful, and knocked down the walls to expand the bedrooms a little. Sarah, you and your husband are in your brother's old room. There'll be a bonfire tonight, so it's going to be fairly informal as far as eating goes, but it can get a little chilly. Should I leave you to unpack?"

"That would be appreciated," Dad said carefully, seemingly recognising her as an ally in rationality. "What time would this bonfire be?"

"Oh, we'll be heading down a bit early," Grandma said airily. "It will be nice for Emma to see the beaches, I'm sure. We'll want to be there about five so be ready in – two hours, say?"

"Perfect," Dad smiled and Grandma hummed happily as she passed by us, opening the door to what looked like a fairly nice, but still cramped kitchen with a dining table set at the end of the counters. She looked back at us, smiled again, and then opened another door out into the backyard and was gone.

"She's... kind of creepy," I said, after a few moments, and from the lack of scolding I was able to deduce that even my dad agreed.

"Right," he said after a moment. "We should... probably unpack."

I took a look at the sofa, and managed not to grimace – it looked about fifty years old, and the springs would probably feel it. At least it seemed clean though. Mum pushed my sports bag towards me, and then paused.

"Preference on where to leave it?" she asked, and I frowned.

"I'll ditch it at the end of the sofa," I decided after a moment. "I can change in the loo, or something, and I'm well-accomplished at living out of a bag. University has taught me well."

Mum shook her head, but looked more amused than anything as I flopped down on the sofa. And oh – look who was right? A spring seemed especially positioned to twist right into my spine. I resisted the temptation to sigh, as I faced the absolute knowledge that this holiday was going to be a long one in all the worst kind of ways.

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Next chapter – meeting the pack!


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to the people who reviewed! I'll do my best to answer every signed review, but for the people who leave anonymous notes, please know that I appreciate them just as much. Hope you enjoy the chapter.

**Chapter Three**

While the weather didn't look fantastic, the rain was at least holding off as we drove to the beach. We were all carpooling – Grandma was apparently into saving the environment and fortunately our rental car was large enough to seat us all comfortably. Granddaddy was in the front passenger seat, which I was mostly grateful for - I didn't really want to be sandwiched between him and Grandma. He'd yet to say a single word to me, instead preferring to eye me meaningfully whenever I wasn't looking, which was deeply disturbing on many, many levels.

The drive took us about twenty minutes, which you might think wasn't so bad – until you considered that those were twenty minutes stuck in an enclosed space with people who weren't so keen on each other and were perfectly willing to sit in sullen silence, not acknowledging each others' presence. Dad had made a valiant attempt at starting a conversation originally, but was forced to give up when no one answered and Grandma had spent her time asking about my love life, undeterred by the unenthusiastic answers I was giving her.

"So, do you have a boyfriend, dear?"

"No."

"Oh _dear._ No one special in your life at all?"

"No."

"Have you had a boyfriend before?"

"Yes."

"But you broke up?"

"Yes."

"That must have been _very_ distressing."

"Not really." (Two words! I was sure she counted that as a triumph.)

"How many boyfriends have you had?"

"A couple."

"Nothing serious though?"

"No."

It just went on and on – Mum was getting progressively more outraged on my behalf, whereas Dad seemed exasperated at my unfriendly answers. "What about that boy – James, wasn't it?" he called back. "You seemed fairly serious about him."

I rolled my eyes. "Please. He failed out of university, Dad and he didn't even have a good reason for it. He was just thick, and his parents couldn't bribe the professors quickly enough."

"You find intelligence to be important in a man then?" Grandma jumped in, staring at me intently. I shrugged.

"Well, yeah. Anyone who can't even pull 40 per cent on an exam deserves neither my love, nor my respect," I said, contemptuously. "I mean, sure there are some people who aren't academically brilliant or whatever, but seriously, you should recognise your own damn flaws before trying to go to university.

"He was attractive though," Mum pointed out, and I sighed in remembrance.

"Yeah, true." I mean, I'm not lacking in self-confidence about my looks, but James had been one of those guys seriously above my dating level as far shallow assumptions went. 'Course, he'd also been an arrogant twat who managed to fail out of his course through sheer laziness, but as far as short-term dating prospects went, I was quite cheerfully shallow.

"Well," Grandma said, clapping her hands together cheerfully as we pulled up near the beach. "I'm sure you'll find plenty of attractive young men here, Emma – we have quite the selection!"

Mum blanched in horror, before turning towards me so no one could see her mouth the words "breeding project" ominously at me. I shuddered.

"I... thought I'd lay off the dating front for a while," I said hastily. "My concentration is definitely on my studies, and guys are just distractions for the most part."

Granddaddy snorted at me disapprovingly. "You're old enough to be married," he told me, his white eyebrows drawn together.

"Yeah," I said slowly, letting a sardonic note drop into my voice. "Thankfully, the majority of the world has recognised the fact that women are capable of doing more than staying barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen."

Granddaddy harrumphed, but chose not to continue with the discussion – probably a good thing, considering that Mum was eying him, her arms crossed and clearly gearing up for a fight even as we all clambered out of the car. Grandma intervened however, hustling us all into different directions; Granddaddy was sent over to join the older, pipe-smoking men already there, Mum and Dad were sent to help set up the barbecue and I found my arm seized as I was dragged over to a small group of people about my age who were clustered together.

"Seth Clearwater!" Grandma called in a loud voice, and an absolutely massive guy looked up. I'm not kidding – he must have been 6 foot 3 at least, all hulking muscles combined with a boyish grin that made me revise my age estimate downwards from the 25 I had initially thought. "I'd like you to-" she began before pausing as she looked between the two of us. Seth had glanced into my eyes, and then away again, clearly uninterested, and Grandma sighed. "Well, I suppose there's no use in that then." Seth raised one shoulder in a shrug, and then sent a longing glance at where two girls were sitting together, their heads bent in close as they giggled over something.

Grandma followed my gaze and shook her head abruptly. "No use in introducing you to _them_," she said curtly. "Leah Clearwater and Isabella Swan." He tone warmed slightly as she looked down the beach to where a man and a woman leant into one another. "Now that's Sam and Emily Uley," she said approvingly. "A good pair. We'll introduce you later – let them have their privacy for now."

"Uh, hey, Mrs. Hanson!" a female voice suddenly piped up, and I swivelled my head to see a teenage girl standing there, one hand raised to the back of her neck awkwardly. She was probably seventeen and there was nothing about her that I could pinpoint as standing out from a crowd – slightly tan skin, wide eyes and a too-prominent chin that off-set her pretty face to something more average. "Uh, I thought if your granddaughter wasn't going to be joining you, she could... uh... hang with me or something?" She trailed off, but I could see the hope poorly hidden underneath her words – she clearly didn't want to be sitting around like a loner until other people turned up.

"Oh, Sabrina," Grandma said pleasantly. "Well, I suppose – yes, yes, Emma, you should join her. Go on, have some fun." She shooed me off as if I were five, and I left obediently. I was storing up some major resentment about how she was directing my life though; seriously if the entire holiday was going to be directed in this fashion, I was going to run away and spend the month in Seattle instead.

Sabrina grabbed hold of my arm, and pulled me away from group of five and onto a nearby log. "Something wrong with that group?" I asked, faintly curious.

"Well, no, not really," Sabrina said, and then paused. "It's just, like, they're this gang or something? And no one else is really welcome."

"Sounds gossip-worthy," I dead-panned, settling myself into a more comfortable seat.

"Oh yeah," Sabrina said with some glee, grinning up at me. "It's like some crazy, crazy soap opera. See, he" – and she pointed to the tallest one, Sam – "used to date Leah – she's the one cuddled up with her girlfriend over there. Apparently they were really into each other, going to marry and everything-"

"At which point she discovered that actually she was a lesbian?" I asked, raising an eyebrow but mostly unsurprised at finding out that the two girls were together, and Sabrina shook her head rapidly.

"No, no, no. _Way_ more dramatic. Apparently, Sam went missing for, like, two weeks without telling anyone and then when he came back the marriage was still on even though everyone thought he was a bit of a psycho, and _then_-"

"Woah," I said. "Breathe. You don't have to get it out all at once."

"Sorry, sorry," Sabrina said, flushing. "It's just, like, I never meet anyone who doesn't know all this stuff already but it's really interesting. See, Sam came face to face with Emily – she's the one with the scars – because she was Leah's cousin and going to be her bridesmaid and everything. But Sam, like, just fell in love at first sight or something and just ditched Leah on the spot, and well, Emily wasn't going to have anything to do with him – because, you know, Leah's her cousin. She got attacked by a bear though, and Sam apparently saved her and took her to hospital and now they're totally all shacked up and playing happy family."

"And Leah?" I asked.

"Well, she turned into, like, the biggest bitch _ever_. No kidding. I can see where she was coming from though, because, like, Sam has to win awards for biggest dick ever. But – and this is the really crazy part – she met Bella; she's the one with Leah, the really pale one, Bella Swan. Apparently, it was just like," Sabrina snapped her fingers. "And Leah was in head over heels, even though she'd never been into girls before. But, see, Bella was only here because she was best friends with another kid on the Rez, Jacob Black, and Jacob's had a crush on Bella since he was two or something, so he wasn't happy, and Bella had just been dumped by her, like, model boyfriend and totally wasn't into dating anyone, AND-" Sabrina took a deep breath and then grinned. "On the totally messed up level, Leah's younger brother, Seth Clearwater, was apparently majorly into her as well."

I looked at her, and blinked slowly a few times. "Okay," I said. "Now I know you're fucking with me. There is no way that kind of stuff happens in real life."

"I'm totally not," Sabrina said, putting her hands up. "It's really weird as well because the elders were getting involved. Apparently, they told Jacob and Leah both to back off, and to let Seth have a go, and Seth is, like, three or four years younger than Bella, but apparently there was a more important 'claim' or something, which totally makes it sound like they were human trafficking or something. Like hell Leah was going to listen to anyone though, and she was apparently sneaking in behind everyone's backs to see Bella and it was this total Romeo and Juliet, except without, like, Romeo, and Bella started liking Leah back and," Sabrina paused again, taking gulps of air. "And, okay, everyone was still thinking that Seth was going to be with her, but Bella got up at a bonfire and told everyone that she was perfectly capable of making her own choices, and that choice was Leah."

"That's... actually kind of sweet," I said, looking over to the two. Leah had her head tilted down towards Bella, listening to whatever she was saying with an absolutely besotted look on her face, while Bella seemed to be gesticulating excitedly over something, smiling right back at her.

"You don't think it's, like, _weird_ or anything?" Sabrina said, her voice clearly implying that she did.

"Well, yeah, how they got together sounds fucking odd and a clear example of why men should not be allowed to dictate anything about relationships," I said. "They both seem happy together though."

Sabrina blinked. "You're not a lesbian are you?" she asked, sounding faintly accusatory. "I didn't think the Hansons-"

"Bi," I interrupted, and then winked. "Don't knock it 'til you've tried it. And my grandparents have no say over how I live my life."

"Oh," Sabrina said awkwardly. "Well, okay. Anyway, if I was Bella, I would have told everyone to go screw themselves and chosen Jacob instead. He's not here yet, but he's totally gorgeous. He's, like, six foot six or something, major muscles, everything."

"Maybe she wanted someone she didn't have to get on a step-ladder to kiss," I drawled out. "Do you know how irritating it is trying to kiss someone that much taller than you?"

"Well, uh," Sabrina said, and I decided to take pity on her.

"So what do you kids do for fun here?" I asked, and Sabrina perked right up.

"There's the beaches of course, and some of us surf, and Port Angeles isn't too far away if you've got access to a car, and- _ohmygod_, they're here!" She squealed the last few words, and I turned my head to look at whoever was causing her such excitement.

Five men were making their way across the sand, and all of them were fairly ridiculously hot. I felt, on some level, that this was deeply unfair – why weren't there such specimens available at home, or better yet, in my college? I briefly lapsed into a daydream in which every male in Oxford University had that kind of body, and then shook myself.

"Talk about holiday flings," I said, wiggling my eyebrows at Sabrina, and she giggled loudly.

"I _know_," she said with heavy meaning, but was cut off by the sudden presence of my grandma.

"Emma," she beamed. "Come along, we must introduce you to the boys. Up, up!"

I looked at her weirdly – why the sudden enthusiasm? – but got up, brushing the sand off my jeans anyway. Who was I to refuse an introduction to attractive men? If dearest Grandmother wanted to introduce me to my future one night stands, I would most happily oblige. Sabrina looked faintly envious, but waved me off when I gestured my head in enquiry towards the group of five.

"Right, well," Grandma said cheerfully, all but rubbing her hands together.

"Emma, this is Quil and this Jared – you don't really need to meet them, so off you go boys." The two indicated looked more amused than offended, although the shorter one did raise his shoulders in a sort of 'what can you do?' shrug as they sloped off. A squealing toddler promptly attached herself to the shorter one, and I flinched slightly. Ew. Children.

"Now boys, this is my granddaughter Emma – I'm sure you'll be kind to her, won't you?" Grandma said, listening to the mumbled agreement that the three offered with satisfaction. "Great, good. Now, Emma," and suddenly she was manhandling me forward, in front of the largest of the three boys, "this is Jacob."

I looked into his eyes, and he offered a quirky half-grin along with a burning hot hand. "Humour her," he mouthed, and I managed not to snort. Grandma looked a little disappointed at something, but Jacob was quickly waved off to join the other two.

"Embry," was the smaller of the three at what was probably an even 6 foot; same nice body, and a grin that made something inside me feel a bit gooey. I was fairly sure he knew the effect he had on women as well; there was a self-confidence that Jacob hadn't quite had – although if the love of his life had decided to choose another woman over him, it might well explain his demeanour. He also failed to meet Grandma's exacting standards, but rather than sloping off to his friends, he chose to rock back on his feet, wiggling his eyebrows at me and looking at the third as if to share in a joke. I cocked my head at him thoughtfully – yeah, he'd do. Handsome, friendly, self-confident, and clearly not looking for any commitment. A recipe for success in my books.

The last one seemed fairly average – sure, in comparison to other guys I knew, he was gorgeous, but put next to his friends he came off as run-of-the-mill. There was a faintly sulky pout on his lips that made me think of him as a sullen teenager, and I felt a mocking smile of my own just begging to be let out. I offered my hand though, and restrained myself from saying anything rude as he finally chose to meet my eyes, grasping onto my hand with a kind of careful disdain.

His mouth was half-open to introduce himself, when he suddenly seemed to forget how to speak. He just sort of gaped, still holding onto my hand, before his face morphed into a stupid grin. I glanced to the side to see my grandma beaming as though she'd been elected President of the United States or something, and barely repressed a shudder. I looked back at the still nameless boy and tried to free my hand inconspicuously – no go; he seemed determined to hold on, as if I'd try to run away if he let go. The way he was acting, he was probably justified in thinking that, because seriously? Uncool.

"Your name?" I asked after a few more moments of silence, and he blinked stupidly, like he didn't quite understand.

"Uh, I'm, uh, Paul," he managed to get out after several attempts, and I rolled my eyes.

"That's, uh, great, uh, Paul," I said, ignoring the disapproving look that was creeping over Grandma's face. "Can I have my hand back now?"

He looked down at where he was still holding onto my hand as if he hadn't even noticed it, and then let go reluctantly. I resisted the temptation to hide my hand behind my back on the off-chance he decided to try and grab it again, but he didn't seem to notice from the goofy grin that had reintroduced itself to his face.

"So, uh, Emma," Paul said after another moment of silence. He kept on trying to fight back the smile that was edging up his lips. "Do you believe in soul mates?"

I looked at him carefully – pausing to lean back a little so I could make it blatantly obvious that I was measuring him up. He looked fairly confident, and probably with good reason; I doubted he'd ever found a girl with real complaints about his body. After a careful inspection, I smiled sweetly at him before replying, with a certain amount of glee. "No."

Seriously. Soul mates? What. A. Freak.


End file.
